A Perfect Storm
by unpredictablemary
Summary: Mary and Matthew spend some unexpected time together during a late-night thunderstorm. S1 AU
1. Chapter 1

The storm that raged was one of the fiercest Mary could remember in quite some time. Outside, it looked like a sheet of rain had simply been hung from the sky; there was no end or beginning to the streaks of water that poured down. Thunder roared in the distance, preceded by flashes of lightning that lit the sky in an eerie imitation of daylight. Mary pulled her covers closer around her shoulders, trying to ignore the violent sound of the shutters banging against the house. She heard a large crack and thought with alarm that a branch may have fallen outside. The pounding was so relentless on the roof that even in the large abbey, it was too loud for Mary to sleep.

Her thoughts wandered to Matthew and Isobel, who had been invited to stay the night after dinner given the storm. Granny was staying, too; her father had thought it unwise for anyone to drive in the weather. Mary wondered if they were comfortable and let out a sigh of frustration, pummeling her pillow into a better shape. Why were her thoughts on Matthew again? It had been happening far too frequently lately. Something about him disarmed her so. She wasn't sure what it was—his demeanor, his confidence, his looks, his way of seeing at the world that was so different from her own… yet, in some ways, Mary felt sure, so the same.

That night, Mary had wandered over to Matthew after dinner, and they had stood together at the mantel for most of the evening. When Matthew had mentioned his work on the cottages, Mary had teased him a little. She liked the unexpected wit with which he returned her comments, and the sincerity with which he invited her to come see the cottages with him. Their eyes had met, and something had sparked down the length of her, sending her limbs buzzing and making her feel a little dizzy. It confused her, maybe because she didn't want to admit that any of it was happening. She knew she flirted with him, and she certainly knew he did it back. But she never really acknowledged it, or what it might mean, in her mind, never let herself think about it. That was the way she was.

A fresh peal of thunder broke the sound of the rain, and Mary kicked off her blankets. There was no way she was getting to sleep now. She wrapped her dressing gown around herself and quietly slipped out of her room. As she padded down the hall, another flash of lightning lit up the house, illuminating the foyer. Mary shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

In spite of the chaos outside, the library was dark and still when she entered. Ever since she had been a young girl, Mary had always enjoyed being the only one up in the house; it made her feel peaceful in a way she never could during the day, when she had to attend to duties and keep up appearances. She always felt like the house slept along with the family, but when she snuck out to the library, it awoke just for her, the only one who knew she disobeyed the rules and was up and alone in the middle of the night, and they sat together in companionable silence. The house had always been complicit in her secrets.

Mary took a book down from a shelf at random and lit just one lamp, creating a dim but cozy glow. The sound of the rain seemed comforting now that she could curl up in her father's chair next to the window. She tucked her legs underneath her and rested her chin in one hand, her long braid hanging over one shoulder as she began to read.

The noise from the storm was dreadfully loud, and the house seemed like it was determined to creak and groan in concert with the torrent outside. How did they live in this huge, old place? Matthew turned over noisily. This bed, mahogany and four-postered though it may be, was not nearly as comfortable as his own at Crawley House. He grunted. It was at least two in the morning, and he had not slept a wink. His thoughts kept drifting to Mary. She was sleeping right above him. Was she asleep? Probably. Lady Mary would never stay awake because of something as silly as a storm. Matthew wondered what her bedroom looked like, and then he forced himself to rein in his thoughts as they wandered further down that improper road. What Matthew wouldn't give to be admitted to Lady Mary's bedroom. He couldn't explain _why, _exactly. He sometimes wondered why he bothered to keep pursuing her. He only knew that he couldn't _not_. Against both their wills, she had captured his heart.

Matthew had been biding his time over the recent weeks, trying to make tiny steps of progress. He knew he had to play his hand carefully with Mary, to let her come to her own decisions. He also knew she was much more than the cool exterior she presented to the world, and Matthew suspected that the feelings she held beneath the surface were uncommonly deep. He only wondered if they were ever directed towards him. Sometimes Matthew thought he saw something in her eyes, or her smile, or the tilt of her head—just a flash of it, and then it would be gone. But it felt a little like promise, and it made Matthew dare to think that she might not be as indifferent to him as she acted. On the other hand, he acknowledged, she could simply be playing with him. It wasn't very far-fetched to suppose that he was a toy for her amusement, a novelty that had appeared in the life of boredom she so despised. When Matthew was feeling ungenerous toward her, when he doubted that he really understood anything about her at all, he wondered if this was true, if her coldness and indifference wasn't an act at all. In the end, though, the thought only ever spurred him forward. There was so much he didn't know about her.

Matthew groaned, covering his face with his hands. How many sleepless nights had he had since he'd met Mary? Stupid, stubborn, beautiful Mary who would probably never love him back. Yet still… part of him thought… there was such a strange draw between the two of them, like nothing Matthew had ever felt. Her discomposure on more than one occasion had told him she noticed it, too. What did that mean?

Matthew threw off the covers and knotted the borrowed dressing gown around his waist, giving up on sleep for the time being. He knew it was fairly improper to go sneaking around someone else's house in the middle of the night, but no one would ever know, and besides, it was family, and this was to be his house one day. A soundless laugh escaped his lips at that thought. It was still strange to him, as much as he had tried to adapt since he'd arrived.

With the vague notion of finding a book to lull him back to sleep, Matthew directed his steps towards the library. He was already pushing the door open when he realized that a dim light shone from inside. He started as his eyes adjusted to the light and he realized that Mary, of all people, was sitting in Robert's chair in the corner, curled up like a cat.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—" Matthew said. Mary looked up from her book, calm as ever. He noticed with a jolt that she was in her dressing gown. He had never seen her hair down before, and sitting in the chair next to the lamp, she looked like an angel, her perfect face and gossamer white gown illuminated in its glow. He realized his heart was beating rather quickly.

"Hello, Cousin Matthew," Mary said with a small smile. "I see I am not the only one who couldn't sleep."

"No," he replied, relaxing at her welcoming tone. He walked over to her, scratching the back of his head with one hand. "It's so loud. Do you know I think I heard a tree fall earlier?"

"I heard that, too!" Mary said. "I hope it wasn't the poplar."

"It seemed a bit further away than that," Matthew replied. "Anyway, I thought I'd get a book."

"Be my guest," Mary said in her smooth, deep voice. She watched him as he moved towards the shelves and peered at the selection. "I hope your room is all right," she said after a moment.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Matthew replied politely.

"Good. If we must keep you prisoner here, we at least have to make you comfortable."

Matthew looked up and saw that Mary's eyes were dancing. She had closed her novel, and her hands lay over it, resting on her lap.

"You're hardly keeping me prisoner," Matthew smiled, abandoning his search for a book and walked over to sit across from her. "I suppose it _is_ to be my home one day." He said it wryly, a dry joke to himself, but he had spoken without thinking. "I'm sorry," Matthew said. "I didn't mean to—" He raked a hand through his hair. Why did he still feel so uncomfortable talking about the entail? "You have to know how very strange this all seems to me, as well."

"It's all right," Mary said, bestowing a rare smile upon him. "I understand. At least, I think I do. As well as I possibly can." She chuckled softly. "You know, I do hope we haven't overwhelmed you too much these past few months. In spite of everything, I don't envy you the situation you stepped into."

Matthew smiled. "If I was overwhelmed at first, I've gotten used to everything. And I'd say this is a very good family for me to find myself suddenly a part of, wouldn't you?" he smiled. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I did with my life before I made your acquaintance."

He held Mary's eyes for a moment, and she felt goosebumps arise on her skin. He meant her family's acquaintance, she knew, but for some reason she interpreted it as pertaining only to herself. Did she want him to mean it like that? To be honest, she couldn't quite remember what she had done with her time before Matthew had entered their lives. Mary felt a little alarmed. She kept her gaze on his a moment too long, and then they both looked away, the air between them suddenly full.

"Do you know what I'd like?" Mary said suddenly, an artificial brightness to her voice that did nothing to dispel the awkwardness of the moment before. When Matthew looked at her, however, he saw that her expression was mischievous. He had rarely seen Mary look so unguarded, he thought, especially while also looking happy.

"What?" Matthew smiled.

"A picnic," Mary replied. "I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"Well, I am, a bit," Matthew admitted. "But…."

"Let's go get some food, then," Mary said. She stood up and looked at Matthew. "Come on!"

_TBC! So there was a storm here last week and as much as I LOVE their scene in 1x06, I got inspired to write something different. I miss S1 M/M, don't you? Would love to know what you think! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_"Let's go get some food, then," Mary said. She stood up and looked at Matthew. "Come on!" _

He was confused but intrigued, and he rose and followed her out of the room. She led him through the dining room and to the servants' stairs. Mary's heart pounded as they walked, and she was acutely aware of the sound of his footsteps behind her. She didn't know what had come over her; in all her years, she had never actually gone downstairs to get her own food. She was emboldened by his presence somehow, and maybe by the fierceness of the storm and the late hour. This didn't feel like real life; it seemed like they were in some alternate universe. She could ignore the rules, the implications of her actions, the feelings she didn't want to think about.

"Be quiet," she whispered as she tiptoed down the stairs. "We mustn't wake anyone. Especially not Carson." Mary looked at him over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows.

"Crikey, no," Matthew replied, and Mary giggled at his look of fear. By the time they reached the kitchen door, they were both laughing, and Mary had to press a hand to her mouth to stop from making noise as she opened the door. Her eyes met Matthew's in shared mirth.

"What are we having?" Matthew composed himself enough to whisper.

"I thought we would get some cold ham and cheese. Perhaps some crackers," Mary replied, leading him through the kitchen to the store cupboards. She swung her braid over her shoulder as she opened a cupboard and peered into it matter-of-factly, and Matthew was momentarily entranced. He had never seen Mary like this, so free and open. He had known that her fiery spirit could flare in anger; now he saw that it could spark in genuine happiness, too. He felt suddenly sad that it hardly ever did. Matthew looked tenderly at the woman in front of him, his eyes examining her pale profile, her dark eyes. What had made her so hardened to the world?

He knew the answer. He was part of the answer. Matthew suddenly felt bitterly the unfairness of her life, and he was seized with the desire to apologize again to Mary— no, to embrace her, to hold her and give her the comfort and appreciation she deserved. But he couldn't do that, and he couldn't even apologize, not now, when she was turning to him with such light in her eyes and food in her hands, an expectant expression on her face.

"You take this," Mary said, pushing a hunk of ham and two small bricks of cheese into his hands without noticing how lost in thought he was. "I'll find us some milk. Or would you like wine?"

"Milk," Matthew said. "Seems more appropriate for a midnight spread like this."

Mary turned to smile at him again as she hunted down a bottle of milk and two glasses. Her body was buzzing. She felt brazen and slightly drunk, though she didn't follow her thoughts to dissect why. "Shall we?" she asked when she had retrieved the milk and glasses, along with two knives.

"Milady," Matthew said, offering his arm to her with mock seriousness. Laughing, they carefully closed the door behind them and snuck back up the stairs.

"You know," Matthew said, "We should make this a proper picnic."

"How?" Mary asked. "Are we improper now?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and his lifted ever so briefly in response to her words.

"I mean, with a blanket," he said. "We could return to the library with our spoils. You've already lit the lamp, and I could tend to the fire. It would be warmer than the dining room."

Mary looked at him appraisingly. "I like the way you think, Mr. Crawley," she said after a moment. "Let me fetch something for us to sit on."

Matthew took the food into the library and began to light the fire. When Mary returned with a thick blanket, it was warm and roaring. They spread the blanket on the ground next to the fireplace, where they could lean their backs against the couch. Matthew waited for Mary to position herself and arrange her skirt before he sat down. He poured them each a glass of milk and lifted his in a toast. Mary returned the gesture and they drank, both with small smiles on their faces.

"I'm hungrier than I realized," Mary said, slicing a piece of cheese. "I'm glad you were up, too. Now I have someone to blame if Papa finds out." She raised an eyebrow at him. Matthew was smiling at her, his face illuminated by the fire. Mary was surprised at how much she liked the fact that he could build a fire. She wished she had watched him do it. He seemed so capable, she thought. She imagined his arms would be strong underneath his suits.

"I doubt you would need my help talking your way out of it," Matthew replied. "But I will assume full responsibility if you like."

Mary laughed. "How honorable of you. Throwing yourself on your sword for me." She held his gaze, trying to gauge his mood. She was beginning to feel a flickering in her stomach, something like nervousness or… desire. Mary's breath caught, but she didn't try to put the thought away like she normally did.

"It's the least I can do," Matthew replied in the same mocking tone. "I fear I would have no good excuse for it, however. I cannot pretend that you needed me to comfort you in the storm. No one would believe me."

"Wouldn't they?" Mary asked, not quite sure of what she was saying. She played with the end of her braid as she shifted against the couch to face him. Did she really want this? Want him? She had never articulated the answer in her mind, but she knew it anyway. Her heartbeat quickened as she watched Matthew take a sip of milk. His blue eyes were dark in the firelight. Mary's stomach muscles tightened involuntarily as he looked at her.

"You're not scared of the storm," Matthew said. "And you don't need comforting. Least of all from me." He shot her an unreadable glance before reaching for more food.

Mary looked down. "I'm afraid I had to be the brave one growing up," she replied. "Sybil would always run to my room during thunderstorms."

She was still the brave one, Matthew thought. He could see it under all her layers, the way she quietly held the family together. He didn't know if she believed it of herself, but it was true.

"Mary." Her name had slipped from his lips before he had time to think. He smiled, trying to recover. He didn't want to betray himself so soon. "Tell me more about your childhood," he said brightly. "What else did you and Sybil get up to? And Edith?"

Mary had felt herself almost tremble when he said her name, but she accepted the change of topic almost gratefully. Maybe they were both scared, in a way, taking turns striking the flint across the stone in painful but sparkling streaks, but never lingering long enough to light the fire.

"Not Edith," Mary said with a dull laugh in her voice. "She didn't participate very much in our games. Not that we were allowed to play many. It was all governesses and lessons."

"I find it hard to believe you didn't make your own fun."

Mary smiled at him. "We did. We loved to be outside. We'd try to get the governess lost on walks so we'd be late for dinner. And during thunderstorms, of course, when Sybil came to my room, sometimes we would wake her up and tell her we were frightened. We'd make her bring us a bit of cheese or juice, and then Sybil and I would lie there talking until we fell asleep."

"So you always have picnics during storms."

"I suppose so! Although I haven't for years," Mary said. She smiled at Matthew, and then she suddenly felt like she was very exposed. She reached for another slice of cheese.

"What would you talk about?" Matthew asked softly, his eyes still on her. His voice was like velvet in the silent room, and Mary found that she wanted to keep talking, to tell him things. To tell him everything. He was a magnet, and she was drawn to him.

Mary shrugged. "Lots of things. Mama and Papa, and the house. Our future husbands. Of course, I was supposed to marry Patrick, but we would pretend that none of that existed. We would pretend we weren't at Downton, that we didn't have any duties. We would imagine what it would be like when we came out, and talk about the grand balls we would have." Her voice floated out into the quiet room, and she suddenly became aware of how intimate this felt. Of Matthew's presence beside her, that he was listening and asking questions and responding.

"What about Edith?"

"She never came. She never would have gotten out of bed during a storm and come to me, admitting she was scared. It was just always like that with Edith," Mary said softly. "I don't know why. Maybe because we're so close in age. She always thought I was treated like I was special because I was oldest. She didn't realize how inadequate that very thing made me feel. I was the opposite of special; I was a girl." Mary looked at Matthew and smiled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to start that. You tell me something. What about you? What did you do during rain storms? You didn't have any brothers or sisters."

"No," Matthew said slowly. "It was always just the three of us, and then after my father died, just me and Mother. I suppose that's one reason why I like being here. I discovered I had a family, after all. In a way."

Mary smiled, her gaze cast down. "I'm sorry about your father. I wish we could have known him."

"I wish you could have, too. You would have liked him, I think." Matthew smiled. "He was a kind man. Quiet, but smart. He was always working, but even when he came home late, he would play with me when I was a boy. He always found time. But tell me more," Matthew said to deflect the sadness he heard growing in his voice. "What other high jinks did you and your sisters get up to? I would have a hard time believing that you didn't cause any trouble as a child."

Mary laughed, and she began to tell him stories about their childhood. They talked for a long time into the silence, their voices accompanied only by the crackle of the fire and the drumming of the rain. Soft laughter filled the room as they took turns telling stories, and an hour had passed before either of them realized it.

"This was a lovely picnic," Mary said, turning her head against the couch to look at Matthew. She was leaning against the sofa in a very unladylike position now, her head supported by it and her legs stretched out in front of her. Matthew turned his head too, and Mary suddenly realized that they were very close. She studied his face, the slant of his nose, the fullness of his lips. He was very handsome. She had known that since the first time she'd seen him, but she felt it had multiplied tenfold in the intervening months. She swallowed.

"It was," Matthew agreed. "Thank you for having me to dine, Lady Mary."

"Thank you for coming. We shall have to do it again sometime," she replied, and they laughed again. Matthew loved it when she laughed, a soft, feminine sound that harmonized so well with his own deep chuckle.

"You should laugh more," Matthew said softly. "You're lovely when you smile."

Mary's heart stopped, but she did not take her eyes from him. "I laugh plenty."

"Yes, when you're mocking something or when you're annoyed," Matthew replied, a small smile appearing on his own face. "You laugh when you're being clever, when you're pushing back against what's expected. Not when you're happy."

His eyes were intense on hers, and Mary felt like he could see through her. No one had ever spoken to her like that, as if they understood her, or wanted to. Did he notice when she was happy? Did he care?

"Being happy isn't one of my duties," Mary replied drily. "Nobody cares much if women like me are happy. We have other things to worry about."

"Well, if you ask me, the world is missing out on Mary Crawley when she's happy."

Mary smiled wanly. "The world doesn't care," she replied, trying to keep bitterness out of her voice. Matthew leaned closer to her, and Mary wondered when she had lost the upper hand in this game they were playing. Perhaps it had been when she had begun to tell him about her family, when she had let her guard down completely. She tried to chastise herself for it, but she found she couldn't regret it. For the first time in her life, she wanted her guard to be down. She wanted to be open. Her breath was shallow. She glanced down and saw their hands, his on the floor and hers on her knee. They were so close. It would be so easy to reach out and run her fingertips over his knuckles. Her stomach swooped at the thought.

Matthew watched her, her eyes cast down, hidden from him. Her breast was rising and falling quickly under her gown. She looked up, and the expression in her dark eyes made him catch his breath.

"What about you, Matthew Crawley?" Mary asked. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Are you happy?"

"I'd say so," he replied slowly, holding her gaze. "I try to be."

"Is there anything that would make you happier?" Mary hardly knew what she was saying. She just knew that he was there, and she was breathing so quickly, and she was going to see this through to the end, wherever she took them.

Matthew's lips quirked, and the smile that flashed there was somewhere between shrewd and rueful. "One can't have everything one wants in life," he whispered. "Can one?" Her eyes were so dark, and he was lost in them, lost in the shape of her lips and the creamy paleness of her skin and the length of her exposed neck, and lost between fantasy and reality as the firelight flickered in the dim room and the rushing sound of the wind and rain enveloped them and nothing seemed real anymore as Mary slowly touched her tongue, then teeth to her lower lip as she formulated her next thought.

"No," she said softly as her parted lips spread in a small smile. "One can't." Her eyebrows lifted in a challenge and a question.

Matthew exhaled, a soundless laugh, as their eyes locked. He raised a hand to her face, and goosebumps erupted all over his body when he heard her slight intake of breath. He slowly stroked his thumb across her cheek.

The gap between them was so small, and Mary wanted to close it. She wanted him to close it. She had imagined what it would be like the next time she kissed a man after Kemal Pamuk, and she had worried that it would be terrible, that his lips would feel as strange and foreign as Kemal's had and that her shame would somehow show itself. But somehow, as Matthew touched her, none of those thoughts came to mind. Nothing mattered except the man in front of her, his face glowing in the firelight, the look in his eyes enough to set her whole body on fire.

And then he leaned forward, just slightly, and his lips brushed against hers, sending a thrill down her whole body, and then again, more insistently. He caught her bottom lip between his, and Mary kissed him back hard. His lips were familiar, somehow, not strange; they were gentle and soft and warm and so many other things that Mary didn't think there were words for. His breath was hot; she felt it down to her very core. When their tongues met, tentatively at first and then with more certainty, Mary whimpered. Matthew's hand tightened on her shoulder; it moved down to her waist, pulling her closer, and she pressed her torso against him. They were lost, utterly lost in each other, in the release of what had taken so long for them to acknowledge. The kiss was so powerful Matthew felt like it might knock away his entire world. In a way it had, because this changed everything.

Mary's hand lifted to stroke his cheek, almost as if she had read his thoughts, and her other tangled in his hair, pulling him to her. This was exquisite, this was perfect, this was… beyond anything she had ever thought she could experience. She felt something rising in her chest, and if she had had the capacity for coherent thought, she would have wondered if it was love, but instead she pressed herself against him, and then she breathed his name.

"Matthew." It was a sigh, a warning, a question, an apology even, perhaps, a plea, an admission.

Matthew opened his eyes, slowly, and let his gaze roam over her face. "Mary," he said, and it was only one thing: an affirmation.

_To be continued...! Thank you for the lovely reviews so far. I am having lots of fun with this story and much more to come very soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

She loved him. She loved him. The staggering truth of those words pulsed through Mary's body. How long had she loved him? A long time, she thought. Longer than she'd realized. She had wanted him so badly tonight, unrealized desire pent up—and now his hands were on her, all over her, and she exhaled against his mouth in disbelief.

Matthew groaned as Mary sighed, and he pulled her even closer. He was becoming increasingly aware that they were both in their pajamas, and the fabric that separated her waist from his fingers was dangerously thin. His other hand was tangled in her hair; her braid was coming undone and the top button of his shirt had popped open at some point. Mary's hands were everywhere, under his collar, on his shoulders, in his hair. They had forgotten everything but each other. Matthew wanted to say things—to tell her he loved her, to find out if she loved him—she must, mustn't she?—to propose, maybe, if the moment seemed right. At this point, he thought wryly as he found his hands slipping lower on her chest and heard her moan into his mouth, he probably _should_ propose. He smiled against her skin. But he couldn't tear his lips away from hers, couldn't break the spell. Mary's hands and kisses were still urgent, and Matthew was incapable of thinking about anything except returning her passion.

Suddenly, a huge crack rent the air, followed instantly by a thundering boom. The ground shook violently; for a split second, the entire house quaked, the windows rattled in their panes and the chandeliers tinkled violently. Matthew and Mary jumped apart.

"What was that?" Mary gasped, her hand going to her pounding heart.

"I don't know," Matthew said. He figured should probably get up and look around to make sure everything was all right, but he found he couldn't care that much, not with Mary kneeling in front of him looking like… that.

"It was outside, wasn't it? It sounded so close. Do you think everything's all right?" Mary was breathing hard, and she kept talking to distract herself from the thoughts that had begun to fly the minute their lips had parted. He was more gorgeous than she had ever imagined, she thought, with his hair flopping in front of his sleepy eyes, his lips swollen and red.

And then they heard voices on the stairs. Mary grabbed Matthew's wrist. "Papa!" Their eyes met in alarm.

"Good lord, it must've woken the entire house!" they heard Robert say. "I do hope the horses are all right!" Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Quickly!" Mary hastily retied her robe as Matthew rearranged his clothes and smoothed his hair. "God, the picnic!" Mary looked up at Matthew and they both started laughing. Mary stacked the plates and shoved them under the sofa. She stood, pushing her hair behind her ears.

"Let me go first." Mary started to go, and then she turned back and quickly, lightly kissed Matthew on the lips before slipping out of the room.

Robert and Sybil were in the foyer, Carson striding towards them, when Mary entered.

"What's going on?" she asked archly as she approached her family.

"Mary!" Sybil said. "What are you doing down here?"

"I couldn't sleep," Mary replied. "I was reading in the library. Papa, what was that noise?"

"I don't know," Robert said. "It's woken the whole house, though. Your mother was worried it might have come from the stables. We'll have to go check for damage, Carson."

"I have already sent Branson, milord," Carson said.

"Wonderful, thank you," Robert said.

"Perhaps we ought to go check, too?" Sybil asked. "We're awake now anyway."

"My dear, it is pouring rain! Branson has gone; why on earth should you go out there?"

"It's not raining anymore, not really," Sybil countered. "It's just the wind. What about the horses? Mary will want to make sure Diamond is all right, won't you, Mary?"

"Oh—of course," Mary replied with a slight pang of guilt. Diamond had been the farthest thing from her mind.

"The horses will be fine," Robert said. Just then, Branson came bursting in the door, tracking mud and water behind him.

"Everything's fine, milord," Branson said. "That is—no one's been hurt. But it was a very large branch from the tree out front. It's blocking the driveway and the tree looks liable to tip over soon. I ran down to the stables, too; the horses were spooked, but Lynch is with them now."

Sybil sighed in relief and the men began discussing what to do. Mary turned to look towards the library and found that Matthew had joined them unnoticed, looking for all the world as if he'd just gotten out of bed. She smiled warmly.

"Hello," Matthew said. "Is everything all right?"

Robert looked around. "Ah, Matthew. Yes, it seems a rather enormous tree branch has fallen outside the house. We'll have to move it in the morning."

Mary tuned everyone out as they continued their conversation. Really, it was just a tree branch! Sybil seemed oddly keen on discussing it and Matthew had put his helpful face on. Finally, everyone concluded that nothing could be done tonight and as neither people nor horses were hurt, they could all go back to bed. Carson and Branson went back downstairs, and Robert said good night to his daughters and Matthew.

"Mary, are you coming up?" Sybil asked as she started up the stairs.

"In a few minutes," Mary said. "Good night, dear."

"Don't stay up too much longer," Robert called. "Get some rest."

Mary smiled tolerantly. "I'll try." She watched her sister and father ascend the stairs and then turned to Matthew, who had lingered behind her. "I suppose we really ought to go to bed," she said with a little laugh.

"You're probably right," Matthew said ruefully. He stepped closer to her. "But I have to say that this was probably the best thunderstorm I have ever experienced."

Mary laughed and dropped her eyes to the floor. "I suppose I can't argue with that." She looked back up at Matthew, a small smile on her face, and he bent his head to kiss her. It was thrilling and new all over again, and Mary's breath caught when his lips touched hers. She wound her arms around his neck, enjoying how easy it was to press herself against him now that they were standing. Matthew's hands grasped her hips as he gently nibbled her lips.

"Matthew," Mary gasped after a few blissful minutes. "We can't…"

"I know," he murmured to reply, his voice husky. He pulled away and they smiled at each other. "Although I don't know if I can sleep now."

Mary looked at him affectionately. "I'll see you in the morning," she said. "That's only about three hours from now."

Matthew chuckled. "All right. Can we talk tomorrow?" His eyes were serious; he ducked his head a little to draw her gaze to him.

Mary understood what he meant, and she took a breath before nodding. "I think we'd better," she said. She smiled. "Good night, Matthew."

He drew her to him, kissed her cheek, then her lips. "Good night, Mary."

Reluctantly, she let her hand slide out of his and smiled at him one last time as she ascended the stairs. Matthew watched her go, and then he very, very slowly walked back to his room. Good lord. Had that actually happened? He returned to the mahogany four-poster and lay down in a daze. Mary's face swam in his vision as he stared at the ceiling. That had, by far and wide, been the most perfect—and perfectly unexpected—experience of his life. He would propose tomorrow. He had to. And she wanted him to, didn't she? The way she had smiled at him when she had said yes. He imagined her saying yes again tomorrow. Insecurity crept in at the edges of his thoughts, but nothing could temper his excitement much tonight. Matthew settled his hands under his head and he stared into the darkness, planning what he would say the next day and thinking of nothing but Mary.

Oh, god. Mary closed the door to her room and leaned against it, breathing hard. She started pacing up and down the room, hand pressed to her mouth. Dear god. Her thoughts ricocheted inside her brain, bouncing from sweet, dizzying memories of Matthew that made her restless and achy to thoughts of fear and worry—could she really say yes to him? It would change everything. Her father would be so infuriatingly pleased. Could she really be married? To Matthew, yes, the little voice in her head said. Mary had never considered herself great marriage material, but Matthew was different. _This _was different, different from anything she had ever dreamed she could feel. And _she _felt different after tonight. This changed everything.

Finally, Mary climbed into bed and clutched the covers tightly around her. She was sure she couldn't sleep. The memory of his hands and his mouth… Mary breathed a shuddering sigh into her pillow. Slowly, the heat inside her dissipated and an unfamiliar contentment settled over her.

Mary was nearly asleep when suddenly her brain remembered, and her eyes flew open. Mr. Pamuk. She was fully awake again, and the realization settled like a weight around her shoulders. How could she have forgotten? Tears sprang into her eyes as the feathery excitement in her stomach turned to lead. She would have to tell Matthew. Tell him, or refuse him. Mary shuddered again as she began to cry.

Mary was late to breakfast the next morning. She made Anna change her outfit three times, before she got exasperated with herself and marched downstairs, already frustrated before she had even seen Matthew. Her heart pounded as she went through the door to the dining room. Robert, Sybil, Edith and Isobel were seated around the table. Mary's heart lurched; Matthew wasn't down yet.

"Good morning," Mary said. She filled her plate and sat down without looking at anyone. It was only a minute before Violet entered the room, followed by Matthew. Mary's eyes snapped to him before she could help herself. He was looking right at her, and Mary felt a flush began to creep up her neck. She dropped her eyes to her plate.

"Ah, good morning!" Robert said. "Hello, Mother, Matthew. I hope you slept all right, all things considered."

"I did not sleep a wink," Violet declared. "What a dreadful storm."

"How's the tree?" Matthew asked as he sat down.

"Not good, I'm afraid," Robert said. "We're going to have to cut it down. As soon as the deluge stops, we'll call someone to come do it and remove the branch in the driveway. That tree was hundreds of years old," he said sadly. "I'm afraid you and Cousin Isobel won't be able to leave until we have the branch cleared."

Mary swallowed hard. They were going to be stuck here together all day? She didn't think she could endure an entire afternoon of sitting with her family and Matthew in the same room. She already felt a little faint from his presence.

"Perhaps I'll go out and see it," Mary said suddenly, interrupting Robert and Matthew's conversation. "I'd like some fresh air."

"But it is still raining!" Edith said.

Mary rolled her eyes. "I'll stand under the eaves, then, and not walk in it. We're going to be trapped in the house all day. I can at least pay homage to a six-hundred-year-old tree before it goes, can't I?"

Sybil snorted and Matthew chuckled. Mary met his eyes and a frisson passed between them. She didn't know what she wanted, not now. She wanted him, she wanted to be with him, but she couldn't be with him without telling him, and she wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible. It would ruin everything; whether she told him about Mr. Pamuk or refused him without a reason, she would lose him and this happiness would be shattered.

"You do look a little out of sorts, Mary," Robert said, and she realized he was watching her. "Perhaps some fresh air would do you good. But not too long; you don't want to catch cold."

Mary nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. "I think I'll go now. Before the rain picks up again." She pushed her half-empty plate away and stood. "Excuse me."

She was halfway across the foyer when she realized she was crying. Her breath hitched as she pushed through the front doors, and when she got outside, she kept walking even though the rain showed no sign of letting up. She wanted to get drenched.

"Mary!" Matthew saw her willowy figure halfway down the drive, and he strode out into the rain. She stopped, then turned and came toward him. They met on either side of the fallen log.

"Are you all right?" Matthew asked, for want of anything better to say. He had to yell over the rain and wind. Water whipped in their faces, but Mary only smiled.

"Of course I am." She looked at him, knowing she should speak before he did, but then he had climbed over the log and his hands were on her rain-streaked face, and they were kissing again, and again Mary was surprised at how wonderful and simple and easy this could be, how teasing and satiating his lips were at the same time, how perfectly they fit together.

Matthew kissed her desperately; it seemed like it had been days since they had last seen each other. Her arms laced around his neck and his hands came to rest on her back; they stood locked together in a passionate, searing embrace until they were completely soaked. When Matthew pulled away, he smiled.

"We should probably get back inside," he said. "Before you really do catch cold."

Mary rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Or before anybody sees."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "It's going to be a long day." He climbed back over the branch. He held out a hand to help Mary over it, and they walked back to the house, only releasing each other's hands when they reached the front door. They went up the stairs unnoticed, and with quiet smiles, they parted to change, each to their rooms and each dizzy with unspoken and unanswered questions.

_Thank you so much for all the reviews and encouragement so far! Ideas and suggestions are always welcome :) _


	4. Chapter 4

_So sorry for the delay! I wrote the next chapter before this one, and then felt like I needed something else to go in between. This isn't my favorite chapter so bear with me, but I hope you enjoy it! _

Mary stopped in front of the door to the library and took a deep breath. She patted her hair, smoothed her skirt and arranged her features into a perfectly neutral expression. The rest of the afternoon would require composure. She pushed the door open and entered; everyone else was there, reading or talking. Matthew was sitting in the corner, an open book on his lap.

"Mary, there you are," Cora said, looking up. "We were about to send out a search party," she laughed.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I'm afraid I got a little damp and went upstairs to change," Mary replied. She took a seat next to Sybil, positioning herself as far away from Matthew as she could.

"We told you you'd get wet," Edith said. "You never listen."

Mary rolled her eyes and reached for a book from the side table.

"Sometimes it's nice to get some clean air," Matthew said. "Even in bad weather."

Mary could feel a blush spreading over her cheeks and she realized she was breathing quickly again. She fixed her eyes resolutely on the book.

"Unless you catch cold!" Cora said. "Really, Mary. Stay inside the rest of the day."

"Yes, Mama," she replied without looking up.

Edith made a disapproving little noise and shifted in her seat. There was a loud _chink_.

"What was that?" Edith said. She bent down to see what she had kicked. "Plates! What on earth are these doing here?"

Mary's eyes met Matthew's in horror as Edith pulled four plates out from under the sofa.

"How exceedingly odd!" Robert said. "Cora, do you know what they're from?"

"No, I haven't any idea!"

"How strange," Sybil said. "Perhaps one of the servants left them by accident."

"Don't look at me," Mary said as Edith turned towards her in bewilderment. "I certainly don't make a habit of taking my meals under the sofa."

Everyone chuckled, and Mary let out the breath she'd been holding.

"I'll ring," Cora said. "One of the servants must have done it." She pursed her lips. "I can't think why, though. I'll have to have a talk with Mrs. Hughes. There are even crumbs on them!"

"Perhaps some mice had a picnic," Matthew said with a little smile. Cora and Edith looked at him in horror. Mary couldn't stop herself from snorting.

"Honestly, Matthew," she said. "You think we have mice in the house?"

He cocked his head. "Someone had to have used the plates. Who do you think it was, then?"

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation," Mary replied, cocking her head and fixing him with that particular look of annoyance she was so good at. Her eyes flashed, but inside she felt those pleasant butterflies take flight in her stomach again. She forced herself to look away from Matthew's eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure there is," Matthew murmured.

Carson entered the room and Cora began explaining to him. Everyone was intrigued by the mystery of the plates, but Matthew hardly paid attention to the conversation. Instead, he watched Mary, her slender neck now bowed down and her eyes on her book, although he was sure she wasn't reading. Her chest was still rising and falling swiftly, the way it did when she was agitated. Her slender fingers fluttered to her necklace, spinning the charm around at the hollow of her neck. Matthew clenched his teeth. He didn't know how much longer he could stand this.

Everyone settled down after Cora left to talk to Mrs. Hughes. Edith went to lie down, and everyone returned to their books and conversations. Mary could not shake her acute awareness of Matthew's presence, and more than once she looked at him so long she drew his eyes to hers. Whenever this happened, she would snap her attention back to her book. After the fourth time, she slapped her book closed and stood up, wandering to the corner to replace it and look for a new one.

"Last night must have been fun for you, Matthew," Robert said just then, leaning over to his heir. Mary nearly choked; she froze at the shelf behind Robert's chair, not daring to look over at Matthew. "Staying here at Downton," Robert continued. "Like a preview of your future life."

"Ah, yes," Matthew coughed, and Mary knew she wasn't imagining the relief in his voice. "Yes, it was quite... fun, although I hope that future life doesn't come too soon. For both our sakes," he added with a laugh.

Robert laughed and clapped Matthew on the shoulder as he stood. "Good man." Matthew watched him leave the room and sank deep into his thoughts. Was it a true preview of his future life? He could imagine cozy nights at Downton with Mary, sitting on the couch with the fire roaring, talking or just reading together. His arms around her, her hand in his, whenever they wanted. This great house, _theirs_. Together. Suddenly it seemed more real and tangible than it ever had: it _could _be his life. Could it?

"Penny for your thoughts." Matthew looked up and saw Mary perching on the edge of Robert's vacated seat, an eyebrow raised.

Matthew smiled. "Just daydreaming. What are you reading?" He reached out to tug her book from her hand, and his fingers brushed against hers. Mary shivered.

"Just something I pulled out at random," she said evenly. "You're not reading," she observed.

"I was thinking."

A hint of a smile played at Mary's lips. "About?" she tried again. She didn't know why she was goading him, except that she couldn't resist and as Sybil had started a loud conversation with Granny and Isobel, no one was paying her and Matthew any attention.

Matthew turned intense eyes on her. "I wish we had had a chance to talk this morning," he said very quietly. "I meant to—when I followed you outside."

His rueful half-smile conveyed more suggestion than shame, and Mary felt it crackle within her body. She looked down at her hands. "We can't very well excuse ourselves now without looking odd. And I daresay we've done enough of that for one day. Perhaps it will stop raining soon." Mary smiled at him, a genuine smile. Without thinking, Matthew started to reach for her hand.

"Mary?" They both jumped and looked up to see Sybil leaning towards them. Mary pulled her hand back to her side as quickly as if it had been burned. "What was the name of that charming little shop you found the last time we were in London?"

"I'm not sure I remember," said Mary, unable to keep a trace of irritation out of her voice. "King's?"

"King's!" Sybil cried. "That's it." She turned back to Granny and began telling her about it. Mary and Matthew looked at each other, both of them letting out a tense breath. Understanding passed between them, and Mary sighed regretfully.

"I think I'm going to go… lie down for a while," she said. "I'll see you at dinner." She smiled softly, so Matthew wouldn't be hurt, and he nodded. Mary's legs were slightly wobbly as she crossed the room. She shook herself sternly as she mounted the stairs. Thinking about his feelings, being so affected by his simple presence in a room... This would not do. She had to pull herself together.

When a knock came at Mary's door half an hour later, her heart nearly jumped out of her throat. "Yes?"

"It's me," came Sybil's voice as she pushed open the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes, dear," Mary said, putting down her pen. "What is it?"

Sybil walked over to Mary's bed and perched on the edge of it. "Well, it's just… you were acting strange earlier. I wanted to make sure you're all right."

"Why, darling, I'm perfectly fine! What on earth do you mean?"

Sybil gave her a look. "You aren't ill or anything?"

"No."

Her sister hesitated, then looked at her with bright eyes. "Is it Matthew?"

Mary couldn't help the look of shock that passed over her face, but she knew it spoke the truth. She groped for something to say. "Sybil, please don't—"

"It's all right," Sybil rushed to say. "I just… I thought I could tell." A small smile lit her face. "Has he proposed?"

"No," Mary said. "Not yet, anyway."

"But something has happened?"

Mary could tell her sister was bursting with excitement but held back for fear of scaring Mary away from talking about it. She felt a rush of affection for Sybil that warred with her disinclination to discuss something she hardly understood herself. Finally, she nodded.

"You mustn't say anything," Mary told Sybil sternly. "Especially not to Mama and Papa. Or Edith."

"Did you… kiss?"

Mary involuntarily closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and she swallowed. Sybil couldn't know the anguish she was causing her. "Yes."

"Oh, Mary!" Sybil's eyes were wide and bright as she reached forward to clasp her sister's hands. Mary's heart ached; she wished she could sit and gossip about kissing Matthew with her sister all night. But there were a million reasons why that would never happen.

"But don't get excited, dear," Mary said. She had realized too late that confiding in Sybil meant either telling her about Pamuk, which she was _not_going to do, leading her to believe that she and Matthew would be engaged, when they couldn't be, or simply lying to her. Why was this so complicated? Mary had spent all afternoon trying to come up with some way out of it, but aside from lying to Matthew, which she knew she couldn't do, there seemed to be no alternative. A lump arose in her throat, not for the first time that day. "I don't know if I really like him," she said casually. "It's _Matthew_."

"You let him kiss you!"

Mary laughed as if Sybil were ridiculously naive. "Oh, darling. That hardly means anything. Now, we must dress for dinner, mustn't we?"

Sybil stood, glaring at Mary. "I don't believe you," she said. "You're in love with him."

"You don't know anything about it!" Mary snapped, annoyed with Sybil for pressing her as much as she was annoyed with herself for the things she was saying. Rather than being hurt, Sybil looked triumphant at the tone of her sister's voice.

"You are," she said, opening the door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Please don't deny yourself happiness just because you're stubborn, Mary," she said gently, and then she left.

"If only it were as simple as that," Mary whispered as the door closed.

Matthew was immensely relieved when there was a break in the rain around five o'clock. The log had been cleared, and Isobel immediately suggested they walk home. Matthew agreed. After enduring breakfast, lunch and most of the afternoon in the company of her family, he and Mary had both been on edge, and since she had retreated to her room, Matthew had been unable to concentrate on anything. He wanted to speak with her, but at this point, he really just wanted to get out of that house, have a hot bath, change his clothes and clear his head. The last sixteen hours seemed like they had been much longer than that, and the combination of little sleep, spending so much uninterrupted time with the family and Mary—_Mary—_had befuddled his senses. He could call on Mary tomorrow.

Matthew delayed in the foyer as he and his mother took their leave, hoping Mary might come down, but she didn't appear. He asked Robert to tell Mary that he would call on her tomorrow, not bothering to care about the small, surprised frown that appeared on Robert's face at these words. As they walked home silently through the cold, Matthew's spirits lifted, and he felt like he could hear the promise of his words with every step. _Tomorrow._ Tomorrow he would propose to Mary. _Tomorrow,__tomorrow, tomorrow._

When Mary appeared downstairs for dinner, she immediately looked around for Matthew, then berated herself when she realized she was doing it. Robert looked up when she entered.

"Ah, Mary. We can go through now."

"Have Matthew and Isobel gone?" Mary asked lightly as she stood back to allow her grandmother and mother to file through the door.

"Yes," her father said. "They left a little while ago. But Matthew said to tell you he would call on you tomorrow."

Mary nodded numbly. As she walked into the dining room, the words swirled in her head, round and round, turning to lead and sinking in her stomach. _Tomorrow._

Mary barely made it through dinner without crying; she ate very little and her hands shook when she picked up her wine glass. By the time she went up to bed, Mary could only hear his voice in her mind, pounding in her head like a heartbeat. _Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow._

___A/N: Not my favorite chapter, but I promise real things will happen next time... I just felt like it needed a little more set-up, and I couldn't ignore this whole day they were forced to spend together. And I wanted to make sure that I had time to do the next chapter justice and not squish things in. As usual thank you all so so much for the lovely and encouraging reviews! I love hearing your opinions and promise your questions will be answered in the coming chapters!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Here it is! Long-awaited, I know, and I hope I did it justice. Enjoy!_

Matthew was in high spirits as he walked to Downton Abbey the next morning. He had thought of nothing but Mary since last night, and he was more certain than ever about what he was going to do. The air was cool and crisp, the village sparkling after the rain, the sun shining down through the clouds. Matthew walked briskly, eager and nervous in equal measure. He smiled as the great building came into view.

Mary saw him coming out the window. He was smiling to himself as he approached the house. Mary had to chuckle at the sight of Matthew looking so boyish and excited, but her smile did not stay on her face long. She would need all her resolve to say what she had to say to him. She had hardly slept, waking up every hour to worry over what she had to do that day. She took a deep breath as Matthew neared the front door, going out of her sight, and steeled herself.

"Mr. Crawley, Lady Mary," came Carson's voice behind her a moment later, and she turned. Her heart began to pound faster at the sight of him, breathless and pink-cheeked and smoothing back a lock of hair that had flopped onto his forehead. Mary had to summon her resolve another time over.

"Thank you, Carson," Mary said with a calm nod of her head. "Hello, Matthew."

"Hello," Matthew grinned back. He waited until Carson had closed the door behind him before stepping close enough to take Mary's hand in his. "How are you?"

Mary swallowed. "Fine, thank you." It was harder to feel determined when he was so close, looking at her in that disarming way of his. "How are you?"

"Desperate to see you, to be honest," Matthew replied with a sheepish smile. Mary nodded, barely smiling. Matthew's eyebrows contracted ever so slightly. "Are you sure you're all right? I thought we might walk outside."

"Yes, all right," Mary said. With the briefest squeeze, she withdrew her hand from his. "Come on."

They walked across the drive and towards the grass in silence. Mary seemed so cold and quiet, not at all like she had been the day before. Matthew was all too familiar with this version of her, and worry began to twist and turn in his stomach. Perhaps the intervening time had given her an opportunity to talk herself out of it. Perhaps she didn't truly feel the way he thought she did.

Mary's stomach was churning. When she finally opened her mouth, Matthew spoke at the exact same time.

"Matthew, I need to—"

"Mary, I know I—"

They smiled at each other, and Mary looked down. Perhaps she should let him speak first, she thought as she tried to formulate her next words. She wanted to hear it at least once from his lips. _I love you. _She was sure he would say it if she let him. The thought came into her mind unbidden, and she found with a small measure of surprise that she wanted to say it as much as she wanted to hear it. She pressed her lips together tightly. As hard as she had always thought it would be to utter those three words to anyone, especially Matthew, what she had to say instead was far harder. She took a deep breath.

"Please let me go first. I'm almost certain what I have to say will change what you'll say." Mary put on her brave voice, but still a tremor ran through her words.

Matthew raised his eyebrows and came to a stop. "I doubt very much that it will," he said, taking her hands in his. "But tell me. What is it?"

Mary looked at him and already felt tears welling up behind her eyes. She could not do this, not with his eyes on her and his hands wrapped around her fingers. She wrenched her hands out of his grip and walked a few paces away. "Matthew, I have to tell you something," she said, turning back to him but keeping her gaze on the trees in the distance. "You must know how difficult this is for me. But if I didn't, I would feel as though… I'd caught you with a lie."

"Mary, what—"

She shook her head to silence him and glanced upwards in a futile attempt to stop tears from falling. And then she told him. She didn't know what she said or how she worded it. She had thought long and hard about her speech, but when the time came, the words just fell out. She was almost insensible to them. She could only think of Matthew, of what he must be feeling, of how as soon as she stopped speaking he would break her heart. Well, she had broken her own heart. Mary knew that well enough.

When she had finally finished, Matthew stared at her, frozen to the spot. Horror, outrage and something close to humiliation all battled in his mind. "Mary," he started to say, but he had to clear his throat to make the word come out. "Mary, this—this can't be!"

"It is!" she replied with equal vehemence, her eyebrows raised and eyes full. "I have told you the story, Matthew, please do not make me repeat it."

"But how could you—" Matthew stopped and passed a hand over his face. He could not understand, and he had to fight back tears. Mary had been with another man—moreover, she had been with another man in the time since they had met. She had _allowed _another man to— Matthew felt like he'd been punched in the gut. _He _wanted her, he had dared to hope she would be his. How could she have been with someone else, a relative stranger, no less? It seemed unlike Mary—but then, Matthew thought bitterly, perhaps he didn't know her very well after all.

"I don't— understand," he finally said in a tight voice, blinking as he walked a few paces away.

"What else is there to understand?" Mary cried. "It happened, I'm... desperately sorry for it, but that's the way it is!"

Matthew swallowed again, desperately trying to hold onto a thread of sanity and reason. He felt like he might explode as the weight of this news pounded around his ears and all his careful plans and expectations went crashing to the ground. He could not believe it of her, did not _want _to believe it. Then an entirely different thought occurred to him, and his blood chilled as he turned back to Mary.

"Did he force you?" His voice was deep and almost dangerous.

"No," Mary replied automatically, as she had told her mother, and then she stopped. "I don't know. He came to my room uninvited. But I..."

Matthew pressed his lips together. "But if he-"

"It doesn't matter," Mary continued more firmly. "I'm ruined, do you understand? I'm ruined!" Her voice was deep and ragged; she hurled the words at him cruelly, wanting him to feel the sharp edges of their truth. She hardly realized that she was both yelling and crying. Why wouldn't Matthew just accept it and walk away? Mary found herself inexplicably frustrated with him for trying to make sense of it; he didn't need to understand anything but her own lack of worth. Then he could leave her to her unhappiness, let her be broken in peace. She couldn't stand looking at him now, knowing how he must despise her.

Matthew stared at her, his lips thin and his eyes stormy. "Why did you do it?" he finally burst out. He wasn't even sure why he was yelling, except that he was so angry and she was yelling, too. Somewhere, Matthew saw how hard Mary was crying, knew she probably didn't deserve to be yelled at, but it didn't completely register. He had come here to propose, and now she had told him that she had shared a bed with another man. He felt blind with—something. Anger, frustration, lust, jealousy… He hardly knew. "Did you love him? Why? Tell me why, Mary!" His voice broke desperately.

"Stop it!" she nearly shrieked. "Of course I didn't! I can't tell you why; I don't know!"

"Well, you must have some idea!" Matthew retorted sarcastically.

"Have you ever?" Mary shouted back boldly, sudden anger overriding everything else. Her tone was almost accusatory, and she forced herself to look Matthew in the eye. "Have you, Matthew?"

He flushed and licked his lips in frustration. "That's neither here nor…" But he trailed off. Because, in fairness, it _was _relevant. He had done it, with a local girl when he'd been at university. It hadn't meant much, and he'd largely regretted it later, but he'd done it. Matthew suddenly felt a little sick. How could he criticize Mary? It would still be hypocritical of him to condemn her. He was deeply hurt; he hated the thought of her with… that man. But all she had done was given in to desire, and that was not something Matthew could say he was innocent of. And besides, Matthew knew that it hadn't been her idea. He could tell; he was sure Mr. Pamuk had been more than insistent—he stopped that train of thought and collected himself. There was no use becoming enraged when the man in question was now dead. Matthew took a deep breath and swallowed.

_That's neither here nor… _As soon as he stopped talking, Mary knew, and a sudden sob tore from her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and looked away, shaking. She had never hated Matthew more than she did in that moment—hated him for his freedom—hated that he had made love to another woman—hated that he was even still here arguing with her about it, that for some reason he wouldn't let it go. Her life was ruled by a tyranny of double standards. The very thing that had kept her from inheriting Downton would also keep her from Matthew. It was all right for him because he was a man. But she, she was ruined, and the horrible truth of those words had never been so devastating as when she was face-to-face with the one thing she wanted most.

A sob almost broke free from Matthew's throat when he saw Mary's stricken face. _God, he loved her. _But his head was still reeling from the information she had imparted, and what this meant for them. What _did_ it mean for them? Matthew tried desperately to regroup, seizing upon the embers of his dying anger; even if he could not condemn her for it, it didn't mean things were all right between them. "So what about me, then? Was the library just a game to you?"

Mary turned her head away with either contempt or pain, Matthew could not tell which. "Matthew, don't," she spat. When she looked back at him, her eyes were shining with tears. "It's not the same, you know it's not the same!" Her voice was ragged, nearing hysterical. Matthew knew that it had been rather a low blow, but he couldn't bring himself to care much. He needed to know for certain, for once and for all.

"Then why—"

"I'm sorry! It was a mistake, it was—I didn't know I loved you then!" Mary cried desperately.

Silence rang out, louder than their shouts had been. They stared at each other, icy eyes locked on dark ones. Mary's chest was rising and falling rapidly; she watched him with fear in her eyes, waiting.

Matthew opened his mouth, but nothing came out. So many conflicting emotions swelled in his chest that he felt paralyzed; he did not know which to give vent to first. The meaning of Mary's words sunk in slowly.

After a long, frozen moment, he strode a few paces away, and Mary turned around, pressing her hand to the trunk of the tree they stood under for support. She would not watch him walk away. She regretted her words instantly; how pitiable she had made herself to him, revealing herself to be ruined and foolish _and _in love with him. Of course he was going. He must be disgusted by the thought of her. Mary realized now that, in spite of herself, she had held some tiny thread of hope that it might be all right. How stupid she had been, in so many ways.

She could hear nothing now, not even his footsteps. Had he really gone so quickly? Her shuddering breaths were the only sound.

"Mary."

Mary whipped around and sucked in her breath. Matthew was standing startlingly close to her; she took a few steps back in shock. "Yes?" she made to say, but no noise came out as she moved her mouth.

Matthew's eyes were so intense she almost had to look away. He licked his lips, the barest smile flickering across them. "Mary, marry me."

_I have been sitting on this chapter so long and finally decided it was where I wanted it. I feel like there are a million different ways this conversation between them could go, but this is how I always imagined it whenever I wished she had just TOLD him. I hope my understanding of the likelihood of Matthew having had sex before was historically accurate, and if not I hope you were able to suspend disbelief anyway. :) Next chapter coming soon!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! I'm so sorry this has taken so long, but grad school apps have been demanding my full attention lately. I promise I'm still writing, just a little slower than normal until it's February and all my applications are finally submitted. Thanks for sticking with me!_

* * *

_Matthew's eyes were so intense she almost had to look away. He licked his lips. "Mary, marry me."_

Mary's mouth fell open. She snapped it closed, shaking her head frantically. "Matthew—"

He stepped closer to her. He hated the way she looked, hated how broken she seemed. He was angry, yes, and he felt like a fool. But at her words, the rage had begun to clear from his eyes, and as the shock of it ebbed away, he tried to think rationally. Matthew could tell she had punished herself much more severely than anything she deserved. She stood before him looking like a shadow of the strong woman he knew her to be, and he hated that such a stupid thing had broken her so completely. Matthew had to show her that he still valued her. He wanted to make it better. This was horrid, but he loved her, and in the end, he knew that would trump everything. "Marry me," he said again, more insistently.

"Matthew, don't!" Mary cried. "Not like this, anyway. Please." Mary pressed a hand over her eyes, her long, slender neck bent down, and prayed for him to go. She could not bear this. No matter how much she wanted it, she could not believe that he could truly want it, too. It felt like a mockery, it had to be a mistake.

"But Mary, I want to." His voice was shaking, both from emotion and from the physical effort it took not to reach out to her.

Mary shook her head, her eyes pressed shut as tears streamed out.

"Mary!" Matthew nearly yelled, and she finally looked at him. One of his hands brushed to her cheek and held her there as he bent his head to catch her gaze. "Mary. It's in the past now. We have to… live our lives. I love you, and I'm not going to let this stop me! I'm not going to let this stop us," he said more quietly. He trailed a single finger down her cheek. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard, whether to get it away from her face or because she wanted to hold it neither of them knew.

"Didn't you hear what I just told you?" Mary cried. Why was he torturing her like this? "Please, Matthew." Her voice trembled, deep and pained, and she made a concerted effort to pull herself together. "I don't want you to make any promises you'll regret in the morning." Her tone had turned cold, and she didn't look at him.

"For God's sake, Mary!"

"Don't you see?" she interrupted him. "I can't—" Her words were swallowed by a sob. "Please. Just go."

She hadn't counted on this, hadn't considered what would happen if he forgave her. She couldn't accept it yet. She couldn't dare to believe it. He would change his mind. And even if he didn't, Mary realized that it was one thing for him to forgive her, but it was another for _her_ to come to terms with his knowledge of it. She needed time. "Don't you see?" she said again, her voice barely a whisper.

And as more tears rolled down Mary's cheeks, Matthew did see. He saw how ashamed she was before him… and, perhaps, if he dared to hope this meant what he thought it did, how much she loved him. _She _was the reason she was denying him, not him. She could not stand before him without shame, could not imagine why he would marry her. It broke Matthew's heart to see how little she valued herself, how hard it was for her to believe he still wanted her.

"All right," he finally said quietly. "I'll see you at dinner, then. But Mary…" He stopped and turned. "Does this mean… may I ask again?"

"Yes," Mary breathed, almost laughed. "If you decide you want to."

"Stop it, Mary," Matthew said. He walked back to her and brushed her wrist with tentative fingers. She closed her eyes with a sigh and allowed him to weave his fingers between hers. "I mean it. It's… shocking, certainly. I won't pretend I don't wish it wasn't true. But it is, and we have to live with it. I'm not going to let it ruin our lives."

Mary looked at him. So many emotions were flying through her mind that she didn't know what to do or say. She tried to smile, but she was overcome, so instead she simply pressed her forehead to his and squeezed his hand. She kept crying, her hand over her mouth, and Matthew's other hand came to rest at her back. Matthew wanted to be reassuring, comforting, anything, but he knew that he could do nothing now. Only time would prove to Mary that he wasn't acting rashly, that he wasn't going to come to his senses and change his mind. After a long time, Matthew rubbed her arm and pulled back.

"I'll see you tonight," he whispered.

Mary nodded, but when he made to pull his hand away, she held on. "Thank you," she said.

Matthew smiled sadly, lovingly, and nodded, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her again. Mary watched him walk away, across the field and back towards the house, before she sank to the grass and cried.

* * *

Matthew pulled open the front doors on his own and glanced around for his hat and gloves. His hands were shaking as he shoved his hat onto his head. Snippets of their conversation clashed in his mind, shouts and cries and whispers. But he tried to concentrate on one thought, the most important thing: There was hope, there was still hope. He would prove to her he loved her. He would prove he didn't care. He could ask again. Her story was important, but it wasn't the end-all be-all. The upshot was not that she had fallen but that there was still hope for them. Matthew concentrated on that as hard as he could, but still, even so, his mind was reeling. He couldn't shake the image of that man in Mary's bed.

"Matthew!" Suddenly Robert was striding toward him and Matthew realized he was still standing in the foyer, staring at his gloves. "It's a nice surprise to see you here. Do come in."

"Oh, no, I was just leaving, Cousin Robert," Matthew replied. "Thank you."

Cora appeared behind him. "Hello, Matthew! Will you have some tea?"

"No, I really must go," Matthew said.

"Oh, do stay," Cora insisted. "It's been so terribly dull here all day."

"I'm afraid I really can't." Matthew felt desperate. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I must… I must go. Goodbye." Barely tipping his hat, he turned and pushed out the door, leaving Cora and Robert staring after him.

"What on earth was that about?" Cora asked.

"I don't know," Robert said. "Odd. I wonder why he was here. Shall we take some tea anyway? I'd rather like a cup myself."

"Yes, let's. Why don't we take it in the library?" Cora looped her arm through her husband's with a smile. "I'll see where the girls are after I've rung."

* * *

By the time the sun had dried Mary's tears and the breeze had soothed her shivering shoulders, Mary had been outside long enough to be sure she looked a complete fright. She was tear-stained and shaking and probably sunburned now to boot. She stood up and tried to brush out her skirt, wiping her hands over her face with a deep breath. She concentrated on keeping her mind blank as she slowly walked back to the house. She could not think about the look on his face when she had told him. She could not think about his look when he'd asked her to marry him, either. She could not allow herself to hope. _But he still loves you_, a voice in the back of her mind said. _He can't. He won't tomorrow, _countered another voice, a cool, detached voice that she had long relied on.

Mary battled the voices as she walked inside. She had thought herself slightly recovered, thought perhaps she could put it out of her mind for the rest of the day, but it consumed her. It was unfamiliar and disarming, how much she cared. She realized she was shaking again. The house seemed quiet; Mama was probably upstairs or with her sisters in the sitting room and her father would be in his study. Mary made for the library, not wanting to take the stairs until she trusted her legs more.

She pushed the door open roughly and was greeted by the sight of her entire family looking up, startled, from their books. Mary stopped dead.

"Hello," Robert said amiably as he glanced up, but his face transformed when he saw her.

"Mary?" Cora frowned.

"I'm going upstairs to lie down," Mary announced with as much control as she could muster. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Mary-" Sybil began. Tears filled Mary's eyes again.

"I'm fine," she said, though she knew her words would affirm the exact opposite, and she fled the room.

* * *

Dinner was horrible. Mary had refused to talk to her family for the entire afternoon, despite Sybil's attempt to bang down her door, and it was clear to everyone at the table that she had been crying. Matthew seemed no less distracted than he had when Cora and Robert had seen him earlier. After making some valiant but failed attempts at conversation, he went silent, and Mary did not utter a word throughout the entire meal. Sybil kept looking between them, Edith was annoyed, and the three parents exchanged confused glances that were not lost on the couple in question.

Matthew picked at his dessert, his brow creased in worry. Over the course of the afternoon, his jumbled thoughts had yielded way to simple determination. If he couldn't convince her with his words yet, he would show her. He had dressed immaculately for dinner with Molesley's help and made sure they arrived early. He'd smiled at Mary warmly when they'd arrived, though she'd virtually ignored him, and he'd tried harder than usual to make conversation at dinner. _I still want you, _he wanted to say—or no, just simply,_ I want you. _

But how could he show her if she wouldn't even look at him? Matthew glanced at Mary across the table. She was not eating her dessert either; indeed, she hadn't seemed to have touched any food all night. This quiet, fragile Mary was not one Matthew was used to. He thought he almost would have been more reassured if she had shown her feelings by being hostile and snappish.

Mary felt physical relief when they went through to the drawing room. She didn't know how to act around Matthew. She didn't want to talk to him and could hardly look at him, but when she saw him she couldn't control the fiery twinge that swept through her body. She ached for wanting him, for loving him. She ached for the way she could see his left hand on the table throughout dinner, for how close it was, close enough for her to reach out and touch. She wanted to watch him as he talked at dinner, wanted to laugh with him. But every time she came close to speaking, her shame crept back in, bringing her doubt with it, closing her mouth and drying her tongue.

Everyone was silent. Sybil and Edith sat down, Violet went for a drink, watching Mary out of the corner of her eye, and Isobel went to the couch. Mary stood by the window, looking outside. As soon as the door had closed, Cora walked over to her eldest daughter.

"Mary, what on earth is going on?" she hissed. She was trying to be quiet, but all pretense that no one else was listening was abandoned when Violet craned her neck from across the room.

"Yes, Mary, do tell us what that was all about," she called, taking her drink to the settee and sitting down as if she were settling in for a good time. She raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter.

"For goodness' sake," Mary said. "Nothing is going on." She crossed the room to get a drink, turning her back to everyone.

"It didn't seem like nothing," Edith said.

"Well, it is! I'm just tired, that's all." Mary glared at her mother as they both sat down.

"Leave her alone," Sybil said. "Isobel, how is it going at the hospital?"

Isobel, who had been watching Mary with as much curiosity as the rest of them, turned to Sybil with a smile and willingly changed the topic, embarking on a long story to which no one paid much attention.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Matthew, but I feel I must ask you whether there is something you need to talk to me about," Robert said as he set their glasses of whiskey on the table and sat down. He leaned an arm on his thigh, looking at Matthew carefully.

Matthew wrapped his fingers around his glass, looking at the amber liquid. "I don't—no," he finally said.

Robert raised his eyebrows. "Is there something going on between you and Mary?"

Matthew blinked, taken aback by his bluntness, though he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by the question. He took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "But I would really prefer not to speak of it, Robert. I'm sorry, but there are some things… between Mary and I that we need to work out. I hope you'll respect that. And I would appreciate it if you didn't speak of this to anyone else."

Robert was silent for a long moment. "All right, then," he said, his eyes flicking back to Matthew. "You do know that if you need my blessing… well, you have it."

"Thank you," Matthew said sincerely, surprised again. "I hope I will need it."

They stood and shook hands, long and hard. Robert clapped him on the shoulder. "I hope so too, my dear boy," he said, looking Matthew in the eye. He sighed. "But I will not interfere. We shall let Mary make her own decisions."

Matthew gave him a half-smile. _If only it were as simple as that_, he thought.

* * *

Cora saw the guests out not long after the men came through; the evening had been tense and no one had any interest in prolonging it. Edith and Sybil went upstairs and Robert returned to the library. Mary stayed in the drawing room for a moment after everyone had left, staring into space. She felt guilty for what she was putting Matthew through. If everyone had been so keen to interrogate her, she could only imagine what her father had said to him. She knew they'd inadvertently caused a scene, and her inability to pull herself out of her melancholy had resulted in precisely the one thing she hadn't wanted—making the fact that something was going on between them known to everyone else. Mary was already bracing herself for the lecture she knew she'd get from her mother once she went upstairs. She pulled herself off the sofa and slowly made her way down the hall.

"Goodbye," she heard Cora call as she reached the foyer, and then she saw her mother start to ascend the stairs. Isobel was already out the door, but Matthew was just about to walk through them. Suddenly Mary hurried forward, though she had no idea what she wanted to say. She faltered halfway across the foyer, but Matthew turned as if he sensed her presence. Mary crossed the rest of the distance to him. Matthew gave her a very small smile.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered. Her eyes searched his face, trying to tell him something she couldn't say with words. "Please. Give me time."

Matthew just nodded and pressed her hand. "Good night." Mary swallowed. She watched him go, one hand pressed to her chest. As she turned to go upstairs, she did not see Violet hidden in the corner, listening with a knit brow.

* * *

_Phew! That was a tough one (for me and for them!). Huge thank-yous to those of you still reading! xx_


	7. Chapter 7

Mary was on her way downstairs, book in hand, intent on sitting outside until luncheon. A night's sleep had helped her compose herself enough to appear normal at breakfast today (that, and a bit of a cry with Anna before bed), but she felt she could use some fresh air all the same. Mary had never been one to wallow. She refused to lie in bed all day, hiding in despair. Yet she was nervous, her stomach was in knots and she could not stop thinking about Matthew, wondering whether he really would have changed his mind about her by now. It was hard for Mary to believe that any man would still want her at this point, but at the same time… it was _Matthew_. She had, for reasons she felt altogether ignorant of, faith in him.

Mary was almost to the door when she heard Carson's voice from the hall.

"There you are, Milady," he said, striding toward her. "The Dowager would like to see you. She's in the drawing room."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Granny's here?"

"Yes, Milady. She asked for you."

"All right, thank you, Carson." Mary turned around and walked to the drawing room, wondering what this could be about and hoping it had nothing to do with last night. Her stomach swooped in a way that was both thrilling and unpleasant, as it did every time she thought of Matthew.

"Hello, Granny," Mary said, entering the room and walking to the chair in which Violet was seated. She gave her a kiss. "I didn't know you were here."

"Yes, I just stopped by. I want to talk to you, my dear, sit down," Violet said, gesturing toward the chair, her eyebrows drawn together as she looked up at Mary with concern. She leaned forward. "My dear, I would like to speak frankly."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Of course, Granny. What is it?"

"What is going on with you and Matthew?"

Mary knew better than to feign ignorance. "Granny…"

"I am serious, my dear!" Granny said, pounding her stick against the floor for emphasis. "I would like to know why, in spite of the fact that you are clearly in love with him, you seem to be pushing Matthew away."

Mary stared at her, momentarily startled out of speech. "It's complicated, Granny," she finally said. "And I'm not…."

"Please, my dear. Pretend with your mother all you like, but do not pretend with me. Of course you're in love with him."

"That's not what I was going to say," Mary said. Her eyebrows flickered together, her mouth twisting as she searched for the words, or perhaps for the frankness to say them. "I am… I do… love him, I think." She swallowed. "But I cannot talk about it. Things are… the way they are for a reason."

Violet clicked her tongue, looking away in annoyance. "Mary. Do you want to marry him?"

Mary took a deep breath. She nodded.

"So what is stopping you? I do not imagine that he is hesitant to propose."

"No," Mary said, unable to suppress a small smile. "He has proposed already and said he will again."

If this surprised Violet, she did not show it. "Well, then. I can only come to one conclusion." Violet looked at her granddaughter. "This is about that Turk."

Mary gasped, her eyes widening. "Granny! How do you know about—"

"Cora told me," Violet said. "After I had received a letter informing me of the murmurings circulating about London." She raised an eyebrow. "Really, Mary."

"I know," Mary said, bowing her head. "I'm sorry, Granny."

"Yes, yes, of course you are. But, my dear, you must stop punishing yourself for it."

Mary looked up, stunned.

"So you got carried away," Violet said with a wave of her hand. "It's very unfortunate, but you wouldn't be the first… No, no, indeed… Even I cannot say I have behaved properly at every juncture in my life. Who can? At any rate, Mary, you must not let it ruin your life."

Mary laughed, a hollow sound. "That's what Matthew said."

Violet raised her eyebrows. "So you told him! I rather thought you had refused him because you wouldn't tell."

"He knows everything."

"Well! And he has still proposed!"

Mary nodded miserably.

"Then I am sorry, dear, but I fail to see your problem. If Matthew does not care, why should you?"

"Because I feel…" She took a deep breath. "I feel as though Matthew is simply dismissing it because of being in love. But I am afraid it will… resurrect itself whenever we argue, or when we are… together as husband and wife."

"My dear, you need to have more faith," Violet said. "And you also need to tell him your worries. Nothing will be solved if you do not talk it out. Set aside your pride, my girl. Yes, it is pride," she said when Mary started to speak. "But you must forget it. You will not allow that faulty-hearted foreigner to define your life."

* * *

Mary walked across the grounds to the bench in a daze after Granny left. She sat down and attempted to read, but the words swam in front of her eyes. Was Violet right? Was Mary being ridiculous? She wanted desperately to believe it was that simple. But she couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

Mary's happiness had been as brief as the storm, she thought bitterly, looking out at the sunny lawn. The picnic in the library seemed a world away. She closed her eyes at the memory, a small sigh escaping her lips. Shoving away thoughts of Matthew—his hands, his lips—she opened her eyes and fixed them firmly on her book. She couldn't think about it anymore.

But it was only a few minutes before her mind drifted again, to what Matthew was doing right now, what he was thinking. Perhaps he was reading the newspaper with as little concentration as she applied to her book. Perhaps he was trying to come up with the best way to tell her he had changed his mind. Perhaps he was planning his escape from Downton. In spite of herself, Mary almost laughed, her lips twisting wryly at her own morbid thought.

"What's so funny?"

Mary started and, glancing up, saw Matthew approaching. Her eyes widened, but she forced a cool smile onto her face.

"I was just wondering whether you might be planning your escape from Downton," she said after a beat, looking at him archly. She tipped her chin. "But here you are."

"Here I am," Matthew said. Mary had to look away from his piercing blue eyes. "May I sit down?" he asked.

"Of course." She scooted over the barest inch, though she was already at one end, and Matthew sat down at the other, keeping a careful distance between them.

"I'm not plotting my escape," he said, glancing at her. "From Downton or anything else."

"Oh?" Mary looked down at her lap, her fingers fiddling with her skirt. "I would."

A flicker of something like exasperation crossed Matthew's face. "If you were me?" His tone was almost challenging.

Mary shrugged. That wasn't what she had meant. "If I could."

Matthew glanced at her sideways, a small smile on his lips. "You wouldn't really," he said. "You love Downton too much for that."

Mary folded her arms more tightly over her middle, halfway between annoyed and unnerved. She suppressed a shiver as she wondered, not for the first time that week, how he knew her so well.

"Well, then, what are you doing here?" she finally managed.

Matthew turned his head toward her, barely. "I was just coming by to tell your mother that my mother and I won't be at dinner on Friday. So I suppose we are escaping that," he added with a chuckle.

"Lord Spenser will be here, so escape you should," Mary replied with a roll of her eyes. "I envy you." They both laughed.

"Well, I hope Cousin Cora won't be too disappointed."

"Oh, I'm sure she won't," Mary said. "She's so disappointed in me, I don't think she has room left for anyone else. I'm afraid she was quite frustrated with me after dinner last night."

Matthew, glancing at her, was glad to see she was at least smiling as she said it. "Mary, I have a proposition." He didn't pause long enough for her to protest what she surely thought he was going to say. He leaned toward her, his arm on his knee and his bright eyes intent. "Let's forget about last night. In fact, let's forget about yesterday altogether."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary said scornfully, turning her head away.

"What? I thought about it all night and I think it's an excellent plan."

"Don't you see how impossible that is?" Mary stood up. "For both of us?"

"Mary…" Matthew stood, too, and he reached for her arms. Mary stiffened and took a step back. Matthew looked to the sky with a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I understand if you can't… forget. I'm sorry." He licked his lips, turning his head away from her; he shouldn't have said that, he hadn't been thinking, and now here they were yet again, Mary backing away and he frustrated. Matthew frowned at the grounds, but Mary kept her gaze on him.

"I know you want things to be fixed easily, Matthew," she said. Mary spoke slowly, trying to formulate her thoughts and rein in her emotions. "I appreciate your saying you've forgotten it. I do. But you haven't. And you're right, I can't. It's just not that simple."

"What if it is?" Matthew burst out. "You said you were afraid I would wake up this morning and run. Well, I didn't. I still want to marry you."

"Oh, Matthew, you always make things so black and white!"

Matthew expelled a frustrated breath. He _did_ want it to be black and white. He loved her and she loved him. Wasn't that enough?

"Thank you for coming," Mary said after a minute of silence. She hoped he knew she meant it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mary." Matthew caught her fingertips as she stood to go. Mary turned back to him, and he caught a flash of the sad storm behind her eyes. She swallowed and then, unexpectedly, drew her hand from his and brought her fingers to his cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said more softly but more insistently, and her lips just barely turned up as Matthew smiled, let out his breath and nodded.

* * *

The next day, Matthew and Isobel came to tea. Mary fidgeted as the family talked. She didn't want to raise her mother's suspicions, so she tried to contribute to the conversation normally, but she had rather a hard time concentrating with Matthew sitting opposite her. She tried to remain cool and detached, collected, as if her mind wasn't wandering to places where she and Matthew were married, and they were sitting in this room alone, taking tea as husband and wife, and…

"Mary? What do you think?"

Mary looked up and saw Isobel smiling at her expectantly. What had they been talking about? A menu or something? "Oh… I don't really care either way, I should think," she said.

"Then it's settled," Cora beamed. "We'll picnic next Saturday."

Mary pursed her lips, annoyed, though she had apparently just agreed to the idea. She did not want another opportunity to be around Matthew with her family watching. The question of whether Matthew could look at her without thinking of Pamuk meant that _she_ could not look at him without thinking of it. Mary was just barely getting used to the idea that he still wanted to be in the same room as her, and the last thing she needed was everyone observing their behavior. Cora rose and ushered Isobel out; Mary fell into step with Matthew as they walked to the door.

"You don't look very thrilled," Matthew observed with a smile.

Mary rolled her eyes, casting about for something to say. "Picnics are boring."

There was a playful look on his face as he turned towards her before the door. "You didn't think so last week."

Mary looked down, smiling. "Goodbye, Matthew."

* * *

The next afternoon, as the sun was sinking in the sky, he found her again by the bench. They talked carefully of politics, of Matthew's job, of the estate. The next day, he called in the afternoon. Mary was out, but he waited, and when she came back she rang for sandwiches. They ate, and the conversation turned into a rather amusing but mostly accurate lesson on family history from Mary. The day after was spent arguing over novels, again on the bench, sitting close together.

Over the course of the following week, some of Mary's worry began to ebb away. She began to expect Matthew every day, and he did not disappoint her. Neither did he repeat his proposal; they simply spent time together. It was unlike any relationship Mary had ever experienced with a man. Slowly, the worry and tension between them gave way to familiarity and a closeness they had never truly known before.

In spite of the brave face she put on, however, and in spite of how easy things had become between them, Mary couldn't help but worry. When they were sitting on the bench talking, she could imagine spending the rest of her life that way. Granny's words would come back to her, their truth ringing throughout her entire body, and it was easy for Mary to convince herself that she needed to give in, to put aside her reservations and accept him. But when they were talking at dinner and she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Matthew's eyes dip down just slightly and his gaze follow the low cut of her dress for the briefest moment, and familiar heat flashed through her, Mary felt she might die. He wanted her and she wanted him and he knew what she had done. How could she ever be unashamed enough to stand next to him at the altar, much less do anything that followed? Would Mr. Pamuk not haunt their bedroom, at the very least, if not their entire lives?

* * *

Matthew rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow with a groan. It was Saturday morning, and Molesley had just awakened him from a rather wonderful dream he had been having… He closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold onto its warmth, no matter how temporary and artificial he knew it was. If only he had Mary in real life… He roughly pushed himself out of bed and went to the bath Molesley had drawn for him. He got in and promptly sank fully under water.

Matthew stayed under until he couldn't hold his breath any longer; he surfaced and inhaled, shaking the water off his hair. He would do whatever it took to win Mary back. He had made sure to show up every day since their argument, to show her that he wasn't going anywhere, that he still wanted to be with her. He would wait however long he had to. He thought back over the last week and how thoroughly his life seemed to have changed. Matthew felt as though this relationship had been bubbling under the surface for so long; now that they had finally opened themselves to it, it was stronger and bigger than anything he had ever known.

Still, Matthew couldn't shake the fear that Mary might walk away from it. They would carry on wonderfully for a few hours, and then suddenly she would retreat into herself again, going cool and distant. Matthew didn't know how to interpret it. And it was frustrating, knowing they loved each other—_she loved him_—and yet they still couldn't be together. Because of her pride! Matthew thought, becoming angrier by the minute. Why couldn't she accept that he didn't care? He was going to start doubting her if this kept up much longer.

_Stop it. _Matthew took a deep breath, pressing his face into his hands. No, no, no. He couldn't get frustrated. Mary needed him to understand. She had asked for time, and he had nodded. She needed him to go at her pace. And that's what he would do. Even if it killed him.

Mary looked as breathtakingly beautiful as ever when she greeted Matthew and Isobel at the door later that afternoon. She was in a light summer dress for the picnic, her dark hair standing out even more against the pale color, and she smiled warmly at him. When the party made their way outdoors, she hung back to walk with Matthew.

"I missed you yesterday," Mary said without looking at him. It had been the first day in eight that he hadn't come to the house; she'd known ahead of time that he'd had some extra work to attend to, but it had felt strange all the same. She had realized with a jolt the evening before that she really _had _missed him.

"I missed you," Matthew said simply, trying not to show how pleased he was by her words. "I can assure you that a walk to Downton would have been much preferred over sitting in my office all evening."

Mary smiled. "Well, it's a good thing you and Isobel have come today. No one has been in a very good mood lately, to be honest. I'm glad to get out."

"Is your father still upset about Sybil's politics?"

"Yes," Mary sighed. "He's barely speaking to her. Mama is terribly worried, about both of them, I think. Sybil doesn't want to talk to anybody about it, which isn't helpful. And of course Mama is still frustrated with me, she keeps trying to corner me and force me to admit that you've proposed. And Papa is acting oddly, too; he won't stop giving me strange looks, unless I'm imagining it."

Matthew winced. "I think I might know the source of that."

Mary looked at him. "What? Has something happened?"

"Not exactly. He… after that dinner, he, well, he asked me what was going on between the two of us. He gave me his blessing," Matthew said with a laugh. "He said he hoped I'd need it."

Mary didn't speak, and they walked a few paces in silence.

"I'm sorry, Mary," Matthew said. "I didn't feel as though I could lie to him."

Sudden alarm crossed Mary's face and she stopped walking abruptly. "You didn't tell him—he doesn't know _why _we aren't engaged?"

"No, no, of course not," Matthew said hastily. Mary nodded and resumed walking, twisting her hands. He glanced at her. "I take it he doesn't know about…"

"No," Mary said with a shudder, "and I hope he never will." She glanced back at him, trying to decide if she was really angry with him or not. "And what did you say? After my father gave you his blessing?"

"I thanked him and told him I hoped I'd need it."

Mary couldn't help but smile at that, and at the earnest expression on his face, even as she tried to stifle the butterflies that rose in her stomach at his words. "Still," she finally said, "the less my family knows of this, the better."

Matthew bit his tongue and nodded, suppressing the protest he wanted to make. He hated the detached tone in which she discussed them sometimes. He had seen so many glimpses of the real Mary during their conversations over the last two weeks, moments when she let her guard down. It made Matthew resent her current unemotional tone even more. Why did she have to be this way? He took a breath to speak, clamped his mouth shut, and opened it again, unable to decide what to say.

Mary knew, perhaps, what he was thinking, for she got an odd look on her face and said, "Let's not argue, Matthew."

"I want to talk about this," he replied quietly. "About us. It's hard waiting… not knowing when we will."

The hard expression on Mary's face faltered just for a moment. "Well, I wish I could give you a date and time, Matthew, but unfortunately it doesn't work that way," she snapped. "I'm trying, you have no idea how—" She looked away, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Can you just trust me a little longer?"

Matthew sighed. "Yes, of course, Mary." For better or for worse, he thought he could trust her forever. He made to reach for her hands, but she started walking again.

"Come on, Granny and Sybil are about to catch up to us."

"I'm sorry, Mary. I just…"

"I know," she cut him off. And then, so quietly he wasn't sure he had heard her, "Me too."

* * *

_A/N: We are so close to the end! I have it almost all done, but I haven't fully decided if it will be one or two more chapters. But I have been hard at work on it over this last week so it'll be coming soon._

_In other news, I am finally done with my grad school applications (after four months and fourteen admissions essays!) which means I will hopefully be able to write more frequently (and maybe actually reply to your lovely reviews!). I have another M/M project I'm working on for when this story is done, and I would also like to write some modern M/M but I haven't quite figured it out yet- so if you have any ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!_

_As always thanks for reading! xxx_


	8. Chapter 8

_All I have to say is I am so sorry for the very long wait for this chapter! But I dearly hope you enjoy it!_

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It was a few days later when Matthew came to see Robert about a snag in the work they were having done on one of the cottages. Mary accompanied him out when he departed, and they took a slow detour through the gardens, talking.

"How are things with your family?" Matthew asked. "Your father seemed in good spirits."

Mary shrugged. "Better, I suppose. Sybil's fine. Although I rather think Papa will be permanently scarred."

Matthew chuckled. "He should admire her spirit. I do."

"As do I," Mary replied. "She certainly is never scared to go for what she wants."

Matthew stopped walking and turned to look at her, squinting against the sun. "And are you?"

Mary held his gaze, feeling bolder than usual. "What do you mean?" His blue eyes were steady on hers, and they spoke to something deep, something Mary barely—and yet completely—understood. Suddenly Granny's voice echoed in her head. _Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're in love with him. _

"What are you scared of?" Matthew took a breath. He was afraid of going too far, but he needed to say it. "Marriage? Or love?"  
Mary looked away. "Perhaps I was scared of love once," she said slowly. "But it's not that."

"Then what?" It was an urgent whisper.

_Set aside your pride_. Mary looked at him. Her heart was pounding, and she knew they teetered on the brink of this. One word from her could send them over the edge. She drew in a shaky breath, as their eyes met and his whisper echoed in her mind.

"I suppose… I'm frightened of my shame." She swallowed. "Of what it could do to us."

"But what _could_ it do? It only has power over us if you give it power, Mary!" His blue eyes flashed; he ran a hand through his hair.

"But Matthew! How…" Mary licked her lips, her hands turned out in frustration. "How could we possibly… know each other in that way? Would it not be ever on your mind? Would it not prevent us from… having a whole marriage?"

The tiniest smile flickered across Matthew's face. "No," he said softly, taking a step closer. He put his hands on her waist, and Mary had to stop herself from trembling.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because," Matthew whispered back, and he kissed her. Their lips met and the world stopped and every doubt and protest and ounce of stubbornness that Mary had left melted against his warm breath. It was different from before, breathless and needy, and Mary was light-headed with desire as her arms went about his neck, pulling him closer and arching her back under his strong hands. Matthew's tongue met hers in the most delicious dance; her hands were everywhere, in his hair and under his jacket. They swayed together, standing there between the hedges that had witnessed so much of their strife. When they broke apart, they were both gasping. Matthew caressed Mary's cheek and smiled.

"There," he said. "Do you believe me yet?"

"Oh, Matthew," Mary breathed, leaning her forehead against his. The words came out of her mouth before she realized they were going to, tender and pure. A full, complete, nearly overwhelming certainty was filling her, a sureness she had been keeping at bay for weeks. Mary had wavered about Matthew, fought her parents' desires and battled herself for so long, but she simply didn't want to anymore. Why had she been so stubborn? There was only one thing she wanted. Mary stared at Matthew, breathing hard or maybe not at all, their eyes locked, and suddenly it felt like a spell had been cast around them. She stilled and the air shifted and the strangest calm, burning but serene, came over her.

"Ask me again," Mary said in a low voice.

Matthew looked at her, and Mary could see the slight hesitance on his face. She could see how much he wanted to believe her but how he was just slightly afraid to, and she smiled tremulously.

"Ask me again," she repeated.

One side of his mouth slowly rose in a smile, and Matthew dipped his head slightly, glancing at her with a look that was somehow both shy and seductive. A thrill rippled through Mary's body as he took her hands in his. She watched him as if in a dream as he knelt to the ground, barely daring to breathe as he tilted his face towards hers.

Matthew licked his lips, smiled, and held her gaze. He wanted to savor this moment. He took a deep breath. "Mary… will you marry me?"

"Yes," she breathed, and kissed him. "Yes, Matthew!" Somehow they toppled over, but neither of them cared, not about Matthew's hat that had been knocked aside nor about the grass stains on her cream-colored dress as they kissed and laughed and kissed until they were thoroughly out of breath. Eventually, they settled against the trunk of a tree, their hands intertwined upon their laps.

"We'll get a ring tomorrow," Matthew said, drawing his hand down her left arm and to her fourth finger, caressing the spot where his ring would stay, tickling his fingers against her palm before kissing it.

Mary smiled. "And we'll be married in the spring," she said. "March, maybe."

"That's so far away," Matthew replied, lacing his fingers with hers.

Mary laughed. "February, then. I don't want to be married around the holidays, and fall is too soon."

"February it is." Matthew grinned. He kissed her again, then drew back and looked at her. This was his Mary, flushed and smiling, relaxed, her hair coming loose and a sparkle in her eyes he had far too seldom seen. They were silent for a moment as the lazy breeze brushed over them. Mary's eyes were on their hands as she rubbed her thumb back and forth over his palm.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Mary finally said. She quirked an eyebrow. "You've been very patient."

"Did I have a choice?" Matthew joked affectionately.

Mary smiled, not knowing how to say everything she wanted to. She hesitated for a moment, but then she looked up at him and she knew he understood. Their eyes met in a sweet acknowledgement of everything that had passed between them, of their understanding and of their hopes.

"I love you, Mary," Matthew said quietly.

Mary's eyes briefly fluttered shut. "I love you," she whispered. She swallowed and looked at him deeply. "Oh, Matthew."

The smile on his face was like nothing she had ever seen before. He nuzzled her cheek, murmuring her name and pulling her closer to him.

When they finally stood and Matthew began to walk her back to the house, back to the world that existed outside their little bubble, Mary had a brief flash of fear that all her doubts and uncertainties would come rushing back. But nothing came. Mary quietly overflowed with a glowing warmth, an unimagined happiness, and for once, there were no thoughts, no worries, no questions in her mind, just one thought and the feel of her hand in his. _Finally. _

"Shall we tell them tonight at dinner?" Mary asked as they neared the house. She knew she would have to let him go in a moment, and she didn't want to.

"Yes," Matthew smiled. "They'll be quite happy, won't they?"

They both laughed. "I imagine so. And that probably means you'd better go now," she sighed as they went inside. "I don't think we could hide it from them if you stayed for tea. But I want to tell them all at once, when Granny and Isobel are here too."

Matthew nodded, turning to face her as they reluctantly stopped in the foyer. "Until tonight, then."

Mary nodded, her eyes drifting over his face, his blue eyes that looked so happy, his red lips that belonged to her now. She shivered.

Matthew glanced behind her at the empty hall. "May I kiss you?"

Mary smiled, put her hands to his cheeks and pulled him to her, their lips meeting in a slow, gentle kiss. "You always may," she whispered, and with those simple words she bared her heart. She felt it down to her core and saw it reflected in Matthew's eyes, strong and sweet and nearly painful in its beauty. Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her softly. "Unless I am cross, that is," Mary added playfully when they broke apart.

Matthew shook his head, his nose brushing hers as a smile spread across his face. "_Especially _when you're cross," he corrected her.

Mary laughed in spite of herself and Matthew drew her to him for another, deeper kiss. He was completely lost in her, in them, in _this_. Finally, it was real, and they would be married. _Married__, _finally.

"Do you think it will rain in February?"

Mary laughed, drawing her head back to look at him. "What?"

Matthew smiled almost sheepishly. "I was just thinking that we'd come through the storm. After all this time, after everything, here we are." His voice caught, and he had to stop for a moment. Mary swallowed, watching him with tenderness. "And that made me remember the thunderstorm that night in the library that brought us together," he continued. "And I just thought it would be fitting if it rained on our wedding night."

"Matthew!" Mary wanted to reproach him for such talk, but she couldn't do anything but smile.

"I know it isn't proper of me to say, and I'm sure Aunt Violet will say rain on a wedding is bad luck or some such, but..." He shrugged.

Mary caressed his lips with her thumb, her other hand on his chest. "I daresay it will rain in February, and I don't care what Granny says," she told him. "You're right. We'll always come through the storm."

**The End**

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_Thank you for sticking with it! There may or may not be an epilogue someday, but I won't promise anything since we all know how bad I am about updating. But I truly hope you enjoyed the story, and if you haven't left a review yet I would love to hear what you think! A huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed the story- it really means a lot to know people are reading, and I have immensely enjoyed hearing your feedback! You're all lovely, and thank you so much for coming on this little journey with me. xxxxx_


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